The Black Cat
by EmilineHarris
Summary: A strange black cat crosses Ponyboy's path...
1. An Ordinary Evening

"Ponyboy? Would you take the garbage out before Darry gets home?" Soda called from the kitchen. It was his turn to make dinner, and that meant that the whole room was a mess of pots and pans and just about every other kitchen utensil that my brothers and I owned.

"Sure thing, Soda!" I called back from our bedroom. My homework could wait.

I entered the kitchen, walked right over to the garbage can, and grabbed a tight hold of the bag. It was nearly overflowing as it was—Soda always made a mess of things no matter what meal he was cooking—and there were some more empty butter wrappers and broken eggshells on the flour-dusted counter. I reached for them and shoved them into the bag, then heaved it out of the can. "So what are you making tonight?" I asked. "Other than a mess, of course?"

Soda laughed and smiled back at me as he tossed a large piece of chicken into our deep fryer. The grease hissed and popped back at him, his "Kiss the Cook" apron catching the worst of it. "Some fried chicken and gravy, flaky biscuits, corn on the cob, and some _green_ mashed potatoes," he replied, winking at me. He always had a thing with adding unnecessary color to our meals. It was his trademark.

I eyed the pots that cluttered the stove's cook top and the various bowls that littered the kitchen counter. Thankfully it was just my turn to set and then clear the table tonight—Darry would be responsible for actually washing the dishes. "Is that everything?" I asked. "Is there anything else that has to go out?"

Soda glanced around quickly, not taking too much attention away from what he was doing. "Nope, that's it… Could you put another bag in the can, though, just in case?"

"One step ahead of you, big brother," I replied, as I reached under the sink for a new bag and shoved it into the garbage can.

"Thanks, Pony," he said as I swung open the back screen door and made my way toward the back alley where our garbage cans were kept.

The sun was just starting to set and the air felt crisp and clean. The trees' green leaves were beginning to wear their fall colors as the last few weeks of summer were coming to a close. School had started about a month ago—I was fifteen now and a sophomore—and I was just getting into the swing of things. It finally felt as if my life was headed in the right direction, that things were going to be okay. My brothers and I were getting along better than ever, with no threat of social services splitting us up, and it had been almost a year since we lost Johnny and Dally. Things were different without them, especially for me since Johnny and I used to do everything together, but I actually had the sense that things were starting to take a turn for the better…

I opened the garbage can's metal lid and dropped the bag inside. As I closed it back up I could hear hissing in the distance—just the alley cats going at it again. I walked over to the fence and leaned against it, surveying the area. I often fed the neighborhood strays, leaving them bits of roast beef from dinner or lunch meat from my school sandwiches, so I wondered if it was any of my cats that were caught up in the scramble. In the dusk light I could see the culprits, an old gray striped cat that always hung around the area and one I hadn't seen before—a young black cat that looked as if it had gone through the ringer and back again. I clapped my hands and kicked at the fence, getting their attention and startling them enough to break up the fight. The gray cat ran away, skittish as ever, but the black cat just stood there calmly and looked over at it me.

I stared back at it. It was definitely a young cat, maybe only a year or two by the size of it, but its black coat was scruffy and worn. Its ears weren't pointy anymore, but rather rounded out with little indents up and down the sides from years of fighting and scrounging around for food in dumpsters. It looked wild and feral, as if it hadn't been touched by a human hand in its life, and its icy blue eyes had a cold, hard look to them. I kicked at the fence again and it didn't flinch. It just arched its back as it stretched and puffed out its tail. It wasn't scared of me, that was certain, and I wondered if I would see it again, digging through our trashcans or calling females from our fence. There was something strange about it, and almost familiar, something that I couldn't quite place.

I walked back to the house and up the three steps to the back door. I turned and looked out into the alley again—the black cat had disappeared. I shrugged my shoulders and walked back inside. Darry had come home while I was out back, and I wanted to get the table set and ready before he got out of the shower.


	2. The Vacant Lot

As the days and weeks passed, I noticed the black cat hanging around more and more. First, it would show up in the morning, sitting on our front porch as I left for school. Then it would be there, when I came home, waiting by the back door—its shifty blue eyes glaring at me. I wasn't quite sure what it wanted—it only seemed to show up when I was alone and no one else was around—but it didn't give me a creepy feeling until one night…

Things had cooled down a bit with the Socs. and it was becoming safe again for a single Greaser to walk the streets. I hadn't been jumped since the time I caught the Paul Newman movie at the moviehouse, and I was becoming more confident in myself. Not only could I hold my own in a fight, but I had gotten a little bit bigger over the course of a year and could run like the wind too. So, the night I walked back from the Nightly Double on my own, I didn't feel jumpy or anything, not until I neared the vacant lot.

Even though the vacant lot was familiar territory to me and the rest of our gang, I didn't like being there at night. A million thoughts came flooding back—Johnny covered in blood and crying like a baby the day we found him after his beating, the rumble where our gang finally chased the Socs. from our side of town, Sodapop running away, distraught from always being caught between Darry and myself—but mostly I thought of Dally breathing his last and crumpling beneath the lone streetlight. Ever since that night, I hadn't been able to look at the lot the same way again. Although we had won a crucial battle with the Socs, I had lost a buddy—we all had. Sure, Dallas was a jerk sometimes, but he was a Greaser and we all mourned for him. We all wished that his phone call would have come sooner, that we could have been there earlier to hide him in time.

So this night, no different from any of the rest, I approached the lot and tried to avoid looking at the single pool of light. I tried to keep my head down and get straight on home, but I couldn't—a slight rustle of movement caught my eye. I stopped, turning slightly to see what it was.

It was the black cat.

Sitting silently, in the glow cast by Dally's streetlight, the black cat just looked at me. The shadows moved around it eerily as the wind picked up the crispy fall leaves and whirled them around in miniature tornadoes. Although it was dark, and I could barely make out the shape of the animal that seemed to be stalking me, the blue of its eyes was unmistakable. It was the same cold blue color that stared lifelessly at me a year ago as I watched my friend fall to the ground. The same blue color that vanished forever, the moment the cops swarmed around his body and closed his eyelids one last time…

I squinted at the cat—could I really see its eyes from this far away? The notion that I could scared me. If it was any other cat, any other place, I could have pushed the feeling away, but something about the entire situation made me break into a cold sweat.

I turned on my heels and ran toward our house. I burst in through the unlocked front door, merely giving Darry a cordial wave as I silently retreated to my bedroom. Sodapop was out on a date—I had seen him and Steve pull up with two girls at the Nightly Double earlier—so I shut the door behind me and sat on the edge of the bed. I was breathing hard, as if I had just run a marathon, and my eyes were starting to fill with tears. I held my head in my hands, hunched over slightly as I tried to regain my composure. I was overwhelmed and I didn't quite understand why. It was only a black cat for cryin' out loud! I took a deep breath and sat up straight.

_This is stupid_, I thought to myself. _You're fifteen now, not a kid anymore. Get a hold of yourself!_

I opened my eyes slowly, staring at the wall in front of me. I focused hard on the curling wallpaper, attempting to erase the thoughts that were flooding my mind. When I felt like I had it together, I flopped back onto the bed, stretching out my legs and then relaxing them. Why had that cat freaked me out like that? I could barely remember. I smiled to myself and got up, preparing to head into the living room with Darry. As I exited the room, I looked back behind me, catching my reflection in the glare of the window. As my eyes focused farther, I noticed that I wasn't the only thing in the window—the black cat was sitting on the outside ledge, silently staring in at me, it's blue eyes blazing. I quickly slammed the door and ran out into the living room.

"Hey Darry," I nearly shouted. "Is there anything good on TV tonight?"

I didn't hear his reply as I sat down on the couch, happy that I wasn't alone.


	3. Local History Class

The most recent events at the vacant lot slowly faded from my mind. School picked up and midterms were quickly approaching. In all the hustle and bustle, I had all but forgotten about the strange black cat—even though it turned up every now and again. One Friday afternoon, I was sitting in my least favorite (and last) class of the day—Local History. Even so, today's topic of discussion, the Native Americans that used to roam the plains of our great state, was actually half way interesting.

"In Native American culture, the whole world was sacred," my teacher, Miss Poole, was saying. "Everything from the rocks and trees, to the rivers, to the land animals and the birds in the sky were divine. While there were otherworldly deities, the creatures of the earth were just as important… In fact, there is an old tale about an Indian warrior, who, although killed in battle, took the form of an eagle and flew back to the rest of his tribe to warn them of an upcoming attack… Yes, Laura?"

Miss Poole acknowledged a girl toward the front of the classroom who had her hand raised. "That sounds like something my grandmother used to tell me when I was a kid," she said.

"Oh?" Miss Poole asked. "Would you care to share it with the class?"

Laura Cook was one of those girls who had to hear herself talk at least once each class period. She was definitely a smart girl, but she had the tendency to come off as being an annoying know-it-all. "Well," Laura began, "My grandmother said that, after my grandfather died, a deer used to come up to the back of the house and just look in the kitchen window. I guess my grandfather had been a hunter so, to my grandmother, that deer was him and he was just checking in on her until he knew she was okay and didn't need him anymore…"

"That's very interesting," Miss Poole smiled. "I think that is definitely along the same lines of what we are talking about today…"

"I think its nuts… Maybe my grandfather will come back as a squirrel when he dies." The kid next to me snickered, rolling his eyes.

I tried to ignore him. For some reason, Laura's story didn't seem so far-fetched in my mind. It made perfect sense to me that a deceased loved one would want to return and check up on a family member. Was that why the black cat had been sticking around our house? Was it a messenger—coming to tell me something important? That cat had always seemed vaguely familiar and its cold stare and icy blue eyes had begun to haunt me.

"There is more to our life than what we see on a day to day basis," Miss Poole was saying, summing up the discussion's last turn. "Enjoy your weekend everyone, and see if you can't take a little of the Native American spirit with you."

I packed up my books and rushed out of the classroom as the last bell rang. I approached my locker and noticed Laura heading to hers, only a couple feet away from mine. "So how long was it before that deer went away?" I asked her, curious about the details that she had left out.

Laura looked over at me quizzically as she pulled her jacket out of her locker.

"The deer. In your story from class," I replied.

"Oh," she said with a smile. "It hung around for about two years, I guess."

"Do you really think it was your grandfather?"

"No!" She exclaimed with a laugh. "My grandmother was a little crazy to begin with and then went over the deep end after grandpa passed away, or at least that's what my dad says… I was just a toddler at the time. But I guess it helped her to cope with everything, so that can't be a bad thing, right?"

I smiled at her. "I guess not."

"See you around, Ponyboy," she said with a wave, turning and heading down the hallway.

I brought my attention back to my locker as I put some books away and pulled out others to bring home. Even though I didn't have any homework from that class, I kept my Local History book so that I could read up on the Native American stuff.


	4. In Search of Answers

When I arrived home from school, the black cat was lounging on our front porch stairs, sunning itself in the warm October rays. Its eyes were closed and it seemed to be sleeping, but as I approached the house it lifted its head and looked at me. I hastened my walk to a run and leapt over it, taking the other stairs two at a time as I made my way into the living room. I closed the door behind me, took my book bag off of my shoulder, and sat down on the couch. I pulled out my Local History textbook and opened it. As I began to leaf through it, I heard a slight tapping behind me. I turned slightly, surprised to find the cat standing on its back paws, scratching at the window.

I tried to ignore the irritating noise that it was making—tap… tap… tap… tappitty… tap—and turned my attention back to the book. I wasn't completely sure what I was looking for among its pages, but I figured I would know when I saw it. If an Indian warrior could come back from the dead as an eagle, and my classmate's grandfather could return as a deer, this creepy black cat could be someone I knew. It made sense. Right? I just couldn't put everything together. I couldn't think with it looking at me, though—even if a pane of glass separated us.

I closed the book and fished around in my bag for a piece of paper and a pen. Grabbing both, I wrote a quick note so that my brothers wouldn't worry about me when they returned from work, placed it on the dining room table, and headed for the side door. It seemed that, if I wanted to be truly alone, I'd have to go somewhere else—somewhere far so that the cat couldn't follow me.

As I emerged from the house, I scanned the area for the cat. It was still on the front porch, sitting contently with its tail wrapped around its forepaws, just glaring at me. I quickened my pace to a jog and rounded the corner.

When the bus came by for its routine stop, I hopped on, dropped some change in the box, and took a seat towards the back. I rested my head against the window and shut my eyes. There was one place where I could go to try and think about this—one place that seemed natural and wouldn't tip off my brothers into thinking that I was acting foolish. I mean, we had all lost two of our closest buddies just over a year ago, and it would make perfect sense for me to go and pay my respects.

The cemetery where Johnny and Dallas were buried was on the other side of town, just before the rich/poor border that separated the Greasers from the Socs. It was a small cemetery, tucked neatly into a row of businesses and shopping stores, and surrounded by big old oak trees—probably original to the town itself. It was a peaceful place, definitely not one of those scary cemeteries that you saw in the movies, and I always felt calm whenever I visited. I was able to do some really good thinking there…

I watched out the window as the bus slowed down to a stop. I waited for the doors to open and then hopped down onto the sidewalk. I approached the cemetery's rod iron gates and went inside. I veered off to the right, down a narrow gravel path and stopped at a plain looking headstone. It was Johnny's. I sat on the ground and just looked at it. I sat in silence—Johnny and I didn't have to talk half of the time when he was alive—and just peered over at it.

_Johnny Cade_

_May He Rest in Peace_

_1950 –1966_

I traced the letters of his first name with my finger and sighed. It had only been a year, but already it was too long. I missed him terribly.

Was he the one that had come back to tell me something? Was the black cat his messenger? I thought back to all the places where the black cat had turned up—all around my house and at the lot—did any hold a significance?

I couldn't think of anything. Obviously we had all had our share of moments at my house and at the lot… It could have been any one of us if those were the only clues to the cat's identity and purpose. But those eyes. They were blue—I was sure of that—and Johnny had had dark brown, almost black eyes. Eyes that only reflected warmth and hope, even though his life had been far from easy. The cat's blue eyes were angry and cold. They reminded me of Dally…

"I was nice to see you again, buddy," I said softly as I stood up from beside Johnny's headstone. "I'll visit again soon. I promise." I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn't been there as much as I would have liked, that life had made me forget about him in some ways. I shook the feeling away and headed back toward the main gates and then deep into the back of the cemetery.

Dally was buried under one of the tallest trees there. I couldn't help but be reminded of his last stand underneath the streetlight. Was he gallant in that moment? I couldn't tell, but somehow I could see Johnny being proud of him.

I came upon Dally's headstone and looked down at it. Was _he_ trying to tell me something? I crouched down next to his grave and sighed. What would Dally want with me, anyway? As I pondered that and many other questions, a leaf from the tree looming over me fell down and landed on my shoulder. I looked up into the canopy and noticed a great deal of rustling. My eyes followed the movement until a shape emerged—it was small and black, too big to be a bird or a squirrel and too small to be anything else.

In disbelief I stood up and put my hand above my eyes, shielding out the bright sun that managed to filter through the tree's many branches. It was a cat all right, _the_ cat. I watched as it skillfully made its way down the large trunk and to the ground.

I had never seen a cat climb down a tree like that—so smooth and effortlessly. From what I had seen in the past, most cats could go up but couldn't quite remember how to get down. This one was different.

The cat made its way over to Dally's headstone and hopped on top of it. It sat there comfortably and then made a strange growling sound. I took a step back as I watched it.

"What do you want?" I asked quietly as if I was keeping the question to myself.

The black cat just looked at me and cocked its head to the side slightly. It seemed amused that I was flustered by its appearance and stared in my direction. How did it get to the cemetery so quickly? I would have been a half hour walk for me, probably more for an animal of its size. I closed my eyes for a second to think, and when I opened them the cat was sitting at my feet. It was in the exact same position as it had been on the headstone, just closer to me, and it seemed as if it had teleported to its new location.

I sidestepped slightly and headed back for the gravel path.

So much for getting a chance to think about things…


	5. What if?

"Soda?" I asked as I climbed into bed. "Do you think that I'm crazy?"

Sodapop chuckled a little bit. "Of course not, Ponyboy," he replied sleepily. "Delusional, maybe, but not crazy."

I sighed, thinking for a moment. I had told Sodapop all about the black cat that had been turning up for the past couple of months—all about how it had followed me (with miraculous speed no less) to the cemetery. I had spent the entire evening, trying to lure the animal into Soda's view too, but it had eluded us. One time, even though it was right in the middle of our backyard, it found a way to vanish before I called Soda over.

"Soda?" I asked again. "Do you ever think about Johnny?"

"Sure," he replied.

"What about Dally?"

"All the time."

I was quiet again. "Do you think it's possible…" I stopped myself in mid-sentence. Maybe I shouldn't worry my big brother. "Never mind."

Soda rolled over and looked at me. "Come on, Pony. You know you can't start a question without finishing it…"

I smiled to myself. Soda wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't just spill it. He always had to know what was next, what was coming—it was part of his personality. "Do you think," I took a deep breath, "that someone can contact us after they are dead?"

Soda looked confused. "Like who?"

"I don't know…" I trailed off for a second. "Someone like Johnny… Or Dallas."

Soda gave me a strange look, as if he was pondering the possibility. "I suppose," he replied after a moment. "I mean, if they had unfinished business or something…"

I was silent—unfinished business. I hadn't really thought of that before. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, if they have something left to say, or do, they might have to make some sort of contact before they can truly pass on."

My brothers and I had never really been religious people, but we always believed that there was something more than just plain living. We believed that, one day, we'd see mom and dad again, and even Johnny and Dally—that we'd leave this world and head to someplace bigger and better. "Because… I think that cat is a messenger for Dally, or is Dally, and that there's something it has to do," I said. It was the first time I had actually voiced what was on my mind—tangible proof that I really did believe the cat was Dallas—and it sure sounded ridiculous.

Soda just stared at me for a moment, a blank look on his face. "Ponyboy," he began. "Is that was all of this is about? Where would you get an idea like that?"

I climbed out of bed and went over to my book bag. I pulled out the Local History textbook and opened it to a page that I had marked. "In class, we were learning about the Native Americans and how they believed that all animals had sacred powers. How they thought that their family members could come back as animals, either to warn them or to comfort them during hard times." I pointed to the page in the book and handed it to Soda. He struggled to read it in the dim light and then looked over at me, placing the book on the bedside table.

I shrugged sheepishly. "It's been over a year since he died, Soda, maybe there's something left that he has to do, some unfinished business like you said."

Soda looked at me, his face serious and almost angry. "Why Dallas, though?" He asked harshly. "I think he left things absolutely finished. He died because he wanted to—he knew it was coming. He practically planned it out."

"I don't know," I replied quietly, climbing back into bed. I knew that the thought was getting Soda all juiced up. None of us liked to talk about how things had ended for ol' Dally. "But that cat has an uncanny resemblance to him. It's scruffy and mean and picks fights… And its eyes are like his. I mean, I've never seen eyes like Dally's. They were one of a kind, cold and hard and uncaring—and that cat has the same eyes."

"Alley cats are usually scruffy and mean, Ponyboy… Sometimes they have blue eyes…"

I felt a little dejected. Even Sodapop was having trouble believing me. "But what if it _is _Dally? What if he can't pass on because I'm ignoring him?"

"What if it _is_ just a cat?" Soda replied matter-of-factly, his tone almost mocking.

I rolled over, turning my back to Sodapop. If it was just a cat, then I would be crazy. It was almost too much to handle.

Soda took notice of my cold shoulder. "Look, Ponyboy," he began, his voice soft and soothing. "Don't let my disbelief stop you. If it will make you feel better about this, you should do what you feel like you have to do."

I turned to look at him again.

"You're a smart kid, Pony, and you're not one to just jump into believing some superstition. I'm sorry if I'm having trouble seeing the situation like you are—I haven't even seen that cat—but I do support you… And if you feel like you need to talk to that cat like it's Dallas, then by all means do it. I wouldn't think any differently of you, you're my little brother."

"Thanks," I said. "I know this whole thing is absolutely nuts."

Soda shrugged. "But if it makes you feel better…"

I smiled to myself. "I guess it would."

Soda smiled too. "Heck. Maybe your talking to that cat would just scare it off for good—keep it far away from here. Plain old alley cats don't like attention… You might just solve your problem that way too."

"Maybe," I replied then thought for a moment. "Do you think you could get Darry out of the house one night, so he doesn't have to know about any of this…"

Soda laughed. "Sure, little brother."

I turned away from Sodapop and closed my eyes. "Good night," I said.

"Good night," was his reply.


	6. Waiting

I was never so happy—or nervous—that my brothers were going out to catch a late show at the movies. It was a school night, and about a week had passed since I had leveled with Soda.

"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," Darry said. I could tell that he felt somewhat guilty about leaving me behind. "But you've still got some homework to finish. We'll all go see a show some other time."

"That's okay," I replied. "You and Soda don't get to spend much time together—just you two—so I don't mind. I'll stay here and hold down the fort."

Darry smiled and ruffled my hair a little bit, something that he was doing more frequently now to show that he cared. We had been getting along better, but that didn't mean that we didn't have our moments every now and again. Sometimes it was hard for Darry to stop acting like my father—and sometimes it was hard for me to stop acting like his son…

I waited in my room, pretending to get some work done while my brothers rushed around the house. Sodapop was never very good with punctuality, so there was a mess of confusion from the living room as he scrounged around for his shoes and then his jacket. I listened intently for the slam of the screen door—once… then twice. Next, I heard the loud groan of our old truck's engine as it roared to life.

_Good, they're in the car._ I thought. _It won't be long now._

I used my fingers to separate the horizontal blinds in the bedroom and peered out. The radiating glow from truck's headlights blinded me for an instant as Darry backed the truck down the driveway. Then they disappeared out onto the street.

I sat quietly for a moment. My brothers were gone and I was alone. Now was the chance that I had been waiting for. I grabbed one of my dad's old sweatshirts from the closet and headed for the back steps. I opened the door and sat down.

The air was cold now, and the fall breezes were really picking up. I peered out into the darkness and tried to distinguish between the wind and actual movement. I got to thinking about what I would say when the cat showed up again—as it inevitably would—and what would happen once I did talk to it.

But what _would_ I say? A million thoughts ran through my mind at once. What do you say to a cat? Or rather, to a cat that you believe to be Dallas Winston? I had never been able to talk to Dally when he was alive, how the heck was I supposed to communicate with him now that he was gone? It was too complicated…

While Johnny was the little brother that Dally never had, I was just the tagalong kid. Sure, Dally looked out for me too—he looked out for all of us—but I couldn't knock away the feeling that he wished I were somewhere else half of the time. It seemed like he wanted to impart his wisdom on Johnny and keep him out of trouble, and that I was standing in his way. Maybe he didn't want me there taking away half of Johnny's attention—I could see why it would bug him, but there really was no reason for it. If only he had known the extent of Johnny's idol worship. If only he had known that his feelings for Johnny were reciprocated right back—that Johnny needed him as much as he needed Johnny. Unfortunately, that never surfaced. Dally died angry that Johnny was gone—and probably feeling partly rejected that his gushing of "_we beat the Socs._" fell on deaf ears that terrible night.

I was lost in thought when I noticed a streak of black in the darkness. I was amazed that I could see it at all, but there it was—walking deftly along the back fence, paying no attention to my presence at all. I took a deep breath and debated on whether or not I should shout out to it. It was now or never…

"Hey!" I called and then hesitated for a moment, hearing the loudness of my voice in the quiet night and thinking to myself how crazy I must be for even going through with it. "Hey there—black cat—hold on a second!"

The cat kept walking along, as if it hadn't even heard me. Did it have to be called by name? Did I really need to address it as a person?

I took a deep breath and called out, "Dally?"


	7. Unfinished Business

_I took a deep breath and called out, "Dally?"_

The cat stopped and looked at me, its icy blue eyes glaring strangely in the dim moonlight. It seemed pleased that I had finally acknowledged it, jumped from the fence, and landed flawlessly in the backyard.

"Remember me?" I asked timidly, my voice quiet as I tried to get comfortable with talking to the animal that I believed to be my old friend. "It's me, Ponyboy Curtis."

I smiled to myself as I could hear Dally's reply in my head. _"Yeah? No shit its you, Ponyboy… What do you think I am, stupid?"_

He, of all people would think I was off my rocker, but I continued anyway—I was doing this for him. I walked away from the back steps and farther into the yard. The cat just looked at me.

"Look, man," I said slowly, crouching down where I was. "I'm not sure why you've been hanging around lately… Everything is okay here. You don't have to worry about us."

The black cat sat down, its long tail curled around its feet, and I stood up, taking a step closer.

I took a deep breath and wondered if talking to the cat was doing anything. The rational part of me felt really stupid, but the part that believed in the inexplicable helped me to press on. I tried hard to think of what Dally's unfinished business could be. Did he want to know that the gang was okay? Or that my brothers and I didn't get separated? Or maybe that we all forgave him? Did he want to hear—selfish as he was sometimes—that we just couldn't get along without him? That things weren't the same without his presence? Maybe he felt as if he had beaten us, that he had beaten the whole world, and wondered what we thought of him for doing so? I just couldn't figure it out… The cat's blue eyes were digging into me, making me feel uneasy.

I started with the thing that seemed the most logical. "Dal, we know how hard it must have been for you—Johnny's death, I mean. We all knew that Johnny was special to you. Heck, he was special to all of us too… So we don't blame you or anything."

I thought about my comments for a second. Maybe we didn't blame him, but we certainly didn't understand. Losing Johnny had hit all of us—hard—but we all got through it. We managed. Why did things have to be so different for him? Why was Dally always so damn difficult?

"Why Dallas?" I blurted out. "Why'd you run out on the rest of us? We could have helped you through it… It wasn't fair that Johnny had to die, but it was even more unfair that you followed suit right behind him…"

It had been a year since their deaths, but all of the feelings and frustrations surfaced like it had happened yesterday. The cat yawned, a flash of red tongue and white teeth. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?" I asked, my voice getting a little tense. I had always been of the mind that animals listened when we talked to them, that they sat in silent understanding. Mickey Mouse sure had listened to Soda … But this cat was different. I was pouring my heart out to it and it didn't even care. It seemed rude, and ornery, and entirely like Dallas—Or was it just my imagination?

"You selfish bastard!" I shouted angrily, the words escaping my mouth before I could stop or muffle them. Any passerby would have caught me yelling at a mangy looking black cat, but for some reason all I could see was Dally sitting there in the shadows. Dally with his pale hair and skin, his black leather jacket, and his icy blue eyes, just waiting for me to get on with my rant so that I'd feel better—So that he could get on with his night of fighting or drinking or picking up girls…

I thought for a second. Suddenly everything started to make sense. Dally wasn't waiting there for me to justify his actions. He wasn't waiting for anything. He didn't have any unfinished business—he had made his peace under that streetlight. The unfinished business belonged to me. Now it was my turn…

"We were a gang, Dally," I began, tears welling up in my eyes. "We were all in it together… But you didn't see that, did you? You only saw yourself… Of course Johnny was important to you. Of course it destroyed you that he was gone—that even you couldn't save him—but did you really have to run out and get killed by the cops? Get killed right in front of us so that we could all see you in your one moment of triumph? Your one final blaze of glory?" I yelled at the cat, the tears starting to fall. The cat just blinked at me, patiently taking it.

"And we all acted like we were upset about other things, that you had it coming and it was only a matter of time before you died violently like that… But, Dally, not even a hood like you deserved that. Not even a stone cold criminal from New York City deserves to die alone. You were a kid, just as old as Sodapop is now. You had more to live for, more to do in life. Johnny knew it—he wrote me a letter while he was in the hospital, he wanted me to tell you to look at a sunset, to realize that there is some good left in the world. But you just couldn't wait… You had to carry right on with your selfish agenda."

The cat blinked again, the icy eyes warming up slightly. It took a step toward me and then rubbed the length of its scruffy body against my leg. I stooped down and it sat in front of me, its blue eyes gazing up at mine.

"We miss you, Dallas," I cried, reaching out to pet the animal. "I miss you… I never really thanked you for looking out for Johnny and me. For doing what you thought had to be done after we killed that Soc. Maybe, looking back, prompting us to run away wasn't the greatest of ideas, but it showed me—and Johnny too—that you cared about us. That you'd put your own life on the line for us, that you'd take the fall for something we did if you had to…"

The black cat leaned into my hand and a scratchy, rattling purr escaped from its weathered body. It sounded more like one of the cars that Steve and Soda worked on in the DX station than anything on the road—a bruised and beaten car, one that was on the brink of never starting again, that, even if fixed, had a short life ahead of it. I smiled faintly and wiped the tears from my eyes with my other hand. "There was a time in my life when I hated you, Dallas, when I was scared to think that I could be friends with someone as cold and mean as you. But I was wrong… You were a good guy on the inside, you just never got a chance to let it all out. I just hope that you're happy now, wherever you are…"

The cat walked a little circle around me, purring as it went. It stood up, putting its front paws on my bent knee and looked at me. Its nose wiggled and it sniffed at me for a second, as if checking me out, seeing if I was going to be okay. I held up a hand and it rubbed its face against it, the purr louder than ever. "Okay, Dally," I said with a smile. "I think I'm all right now. I think I said what I needed to say."

The cat sort of licked its lips and then blinked its blue eyes again. It let out a tough cry, the strangest meow I have ever heard, turned away from me, and strutted off through our backyard with its tail straight in the air. Then it effortlessly climbed the fence and disappeared over the other side.

I smiled to myself—I knew that was the last I'd ever see of the scruffy black cat, and the last I'd ever see of Dallas Winston. It had been a year since he died, and it finally felt as if things were going to be okay.

The End

This fic is dedicated to my own (yellow-eyed) black cat whose knack for appearing and disappearing with such flawlessness inspired this story.

Also, here's a quick thanks to all of my reviewers: black cat, alleycat, Kal's gal, Raveangel33, Scarlett7, SpotlessLadyBug, and Malik Fan 03. Thanks for all of your comments and feedback. I hope I didn't disappoint!


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